


i can be a handful, but that’s why you have two hands.

by sarangx



Series: Casual Mondays [1]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: (but it’s not that noticeable lol), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Bullying, Fights, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Violence, phat uwu, soft kids jilix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-10 21:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15957974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarangx/pseuds/sarangx
Summary: Too many issues, so I wouldn't blame youBearer of bad news, I've got no excuse





	i can be a handful, but that’s why you have two hands.

**Author's Note:**

> playlist:  
> “demons” by joji  
> “introvert” by joji  
> “who?” by stray kids  
> “i’m so afraid” by holland  
> “i’m not ok” by the weathers  
> “casual mondays” by the weathers

If there’s one thing Jisung has learned in his lifetime, it’s that the view of the sky is best on his back. The entire expanse of the sky would fill up his eyes, only valleys of blue and plumes of white to his name. Maybe dark grey with a splatter of rain or a ginormous piece of watercolor with oranges and pinks and purples. It’s different depending on the day, but it’s still beautiful anyway, and always the best seen from on the ground.

Though the his left eye is aching, and the burning of his bruised ribs still occupies his mind, he can thank the sky for bestowing upon him such a view. It’s a deep cerulean today, and there are barely any clouds to hide the vibrant color. He finds himself smiling despite the cut in his lip.

He forces his arm upwards to the sky, fingers unclasping and clasping overhead as if to touch the sea of blue. He’s unsuccessful, but he thinks it was worth the try.

Yes, such a view is worth the hits to his jaw and the pummeling to his stomach. He’d never trade this moment for anything in the world, even if it feels like one of his ribs is broken and his head will split in two. Nothing could amount to the sky above him.

_Two hours earlier. . ._

“You call yourself a fighter? You can barely even throw a punch!” Jisung spat out, a wicked grin on his face as he said it. He knew what would happen when he said it, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

The other boy—Kyungho—let out a disbelieving scoff, his eyes lighting up with that telltale hunger. His fists curled by his sides and all of his muscles tensed as he narrowed his eyes at Jisung.

“You think dodging is all you can do, pretty boy?” he said menacingly, the question barely pushing through his clenched teeth.

He looked like he was gonna say more, but then Jisung threw a right hook, landing a strong punch to Kyungho’s jaw. His fist screamed in pain, but Jisung relished in it rather than flinched as he saw the other reel back.

“Nah,” Jisung replied with a bright smile, a certain light in his eye that was reminiscent of excitement.

There was a crowd around them, crooning and whooping and cheering. A few looked around worriedly, but most of them found the fight amusing and fun to watch. Several of them had whistled when Jisung had thrown the punch, and now the crowd was roaring loudly in enthusiasm.

Kyungho chose not to say anything more, instead going for Jisung’s exposed stomach. His leg shot out in a forceful kick, his combat shoes smashing into the other’s ribs and Jisung was sure he could hear one crack when he crashed to the cement. The crowd roared again and Jisung grinned wider, fueled by adrenaline.

He only smirked at Kyungho from the ground, not once acknowledging the suffocating pain erupting from the blow to his belly. It was getting harder to breathe but he didn’t care.

“Is that all you got?” he asked, and that’s when it got serious.

As the crowd whistled once more, Kyungho strode towards Jisung with a sense of purpose. He picked the other up by his hair, earning himself a short whine of pain before it was quickly stifled. Kyungo pulled a bit harder but there was no other sounds to emit from Jisung, who looked up at him with a crooked grin.

“You think you can just hit me like that and smile, boy?”

“Yes.”

Jisung was met by a hard smack to his face, leaving his lip to bleed and for his eye to gradually start bruising. The crowd let out a booming cheer, and Jisung’s grin grew even wider. His lip stung but he ignored it—ignored all of the pain shooting up his body. He was still in Kyungho’s hold.

Until he wasn’t.

The world spun around him as he was thrown to the hard cement, the impact traveling up his arms and a bit to his head. He hissed in pain, his flesh scraping the ground as he flew to the edge of the circle they had been in. The smile was still on his face, though, despite the blood trickling from the skid marks on his arms and his raging headache.

Jisung didn’t get up; his legs felt like jelly and his arms were burning. He simply looked up at Kyungho through glassy, pain-filled eyes. The damned grin stayed present, aggravating the older boy further, thus causing Jisung to fall victim to another blow to his stomach. Pain flared up immediately, so intense that the smile fell from his face as he clutched the area with shaky hands.

“No more smiling, psycho,” Kyungho gritted out, accentuating each word with a kick to Jisung’s belly. The crowd continued cheering loudly, but the pain was so bad that Jisung could no longer force himself to smile.

“Is- is kicking all you can do?” he wheezed, voice coming out in shaky exhales. His eye had already swelled shut, and his arms were still gushing blood. The crowd kept whooing crazily.

“Guys! The police are coming!” Someone from the crowd suddenly yelled, causing everyone to start scattering hurriedly.

Kyungho spewed out a string of curses before he spared Jisung one last glare and ran off after the remnants of the crowd as well. And just like it had begun, Jisung wa left alone with wounds needing to be nursed but with no nurse to treat them.

 

_Present. . ._

Jisung looked over his arms with a grimace. The bleeding had stopped, but there were still long, dark red lines going across his forearms from where he had tried to catch himself. There was still dried blood, too, but he tried not to think about it. If just his arms were this bad, he wondered how awful his face must look.

He touched his lip gently, wincing immediately at the sting that ensued. He wrinkled his nose in distaste and licked his lips, internally cringing at the tang of metal that blossomed along his tongue.

With a sigh, he forced himself to sit up. His body creaked in protest, letting out cricks and cracks with every movement. Jisung frowned and was about to stand but the pain that shot up his body caused him to stop and stumble back to the ground. The world was suddenly a lot fuzzier and there were black spots dancing around his vision.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Jisung looked up, startled. He blinked several times before the owner of the voice came into view. When he saw him, though, Jisung’s heart started beating faster and he wondered if perhaps he had gotten into a worse fight than he originally thought.

It was a boy; a very pretty boy with a very pretty face. He had clear skin that was speckled with small brown dots—freckles?—along his cheeks, and he had doe eyes with wide pupils. His hair looked soft, coming down in smooth, blonde tendrils like a halo around his head. It seemed a bit messy, however, and there was some dirt smeared on the boy’s cheek, but it only endeared Jisung further.

“What? I’m- yeah,” he finally stuttered out, remembering he was asked a question.

He attempted to stand again, forgetting that he had just gotten beat up, and involuntarily let out a small groan of pain when the same response as before happened. He shut his eyes and bit his lip to subdue the pain even a little bit.

“Hey, don’t move—you’ll only make it worse.” The voice of the pretty boy was a lot closer now, and when Jisung opened his eyes, he became informed that the pretty boy was even prettier up close. (And that yes, those were indeed freckles.)

“I’m fi- ow!” Jisung hissed in discomfort when he moved his torso a bit. His ribs were still crying out in pain from the whole ordeal, and every little movement upset them. He moved his hand to his stomach instinctively, catching the pretty boy’s attention.

“Where does if hurt? Your belly?”

“Why are you worrying over me?” Jisung bit back to avoid answering, forcing a glare despite the tug of his heart. “It’s none of your business.”

He was taught that everything nice had a catch, that he needed to be wary of every single kind action someone took. Because life had always treated him badly, and it always would, because he’s Han Jisung and that’s simply his reality. He had to learn to appreciate the small things, and to treat kindness with suspicion, and take every form of abuse in stride.

“Why do I need a reason?” the other countered, frowning. (Jisung idly decided it didn’t fit him.) “Come on, I’ll take you to a secret place where no one will hurt you, okay?” When Jisung only eyed him, he added, “Trust me.”

Jisung scoffed, but decided he wasn’t in a place where he could dictate whether or not he should go along with the pretty boy. It wasn’t really a matter of trust, but a matter of ability, and Jisung was coming up a bit short in the latter, so he had no other choice.

“How are you gonna take me there any- oh!” Suddenly, Jisung was lifted into the air. He let out a not-so-manly squeak in surprise, clutching onto the pretty boy’s shoulders to support himself. “What is wrong with you?” he shouted as his cheeks flushed bright red.

“Hey, sue me for wanting to help a cute boy,” the other said with a sly smile. Jisung blushed harder.

“What- but I- how can you-” he floundered, words failing him. His face mirrored that of a tomato, but with more cuts and bruises. “Do you not know who I _am_?”

“You’re that one guy who asks to get beat up. Yes, I know,” the pretty boy stated matter-of-factly. “But you look terrible so I figured why not help you out?”

“What do you want from me?” Jisung asked through narrowed eyes. He’s still tucked into the other’s chest as they walk. “Money? Reputation? ‘Cause I got none of that.”

“Why do you think I want something from you?”

“Because that’s how it always is,” he answered with a roll of his eyes. He shifted slightly to avoid eye contact. “You’re being too nice to me and I don’t like it.”

“I think you do like it, but you’re afraid there’s a catch.”

Jisung looked up in a bit of surprise, locking eyes with the pretty boy. None of them said anything, though, and Jisung quickly looked away again. He could feel his heart pound in his chest, but it wasn’t due to adrenaline during a fight or fear because of his father. No, his heart was beating fast for a different reason but he couldn’t bring himself to admit what it was.

The pair didn’t say anything else for the rest of the short trip. Jisung told himself he hated how comfortable it was to be in the pretty boy’s arms, and that the blush that was stained on his cheeks was because of the heat—nevermind the fact it was nearing autumn. He didn’t see the other smile fondly at him.

Finally, they came upon a quaint grass hut that was reminiscent of older times. It was centered in the woodlands behind a suburban neighborhood not too far away from the school, though, so Jisung couldn’t quite understand how or why the hut was there. It was well-made, however: with tight, woven leaves making up the walls, and bigger leaves strewn across the top to make a slightly slanted roof. It was small and didn’t seem capable to hold much, but it was feasible and cute; charming, in a way.

“Do you like it? I made it myself,” the pretty boy said proudly. He had a pretty smile on his face, too, and his eyes curled up into little crescents. Jisung’s heart beat faster in response.

“You _made_ this?” Jisung inquired in shock, looking around as the pretty boy ducked through the threshold. It was pretty plain inside, but it was still impressive—small plants grew from the dirt ground bordering the perimeter, and there were plastic bins stacked on each other beside a moon cactus.

“Yeah, but I had some help of course,” the other replied vaguely. He gently set Jisung down before leafing through the bins’ contents. He came back over to the injured boy with a first-aid kit and two small boxes that smelled of fresh herbs.

“What is that? What are you planning on doing?” Jisung asked suspiciously as he scrunched up his nose and stared down at the materials. The pretty boy paused for a moment, temporarily paralyzed, before he shook his head and sat down in front of Jisung.

“These are just some herbs to help with your injuries,” he said. “Nothing to worry about, I promise. Some stuff might sting, though.”

In any other case, Jisung would’ve recoiled and exclaimed words his mother wouldn’t like to hear. But the pretty boy had a warm aura, and his eyes were so kind and so welcoming that Jisung found himself slowly revealing the wounds on his forearms.

“These look bad,” the other stated worriedly, his brow furrowing. “It must’ve hurt a lot. . .” He paused, remembering he didn’t know Jisung’s name.

“Jisung,” Jisung supplied quietly. He refused to look at the pretty boy as tears came to his eyes. He wasn’t even sure why he had suddenly gotten so emotional; maybe because he had never been shown genuine concern before or because he was never treated with such care.

“Jisung,” the pretty boy repeated, trying it out. He gave a big grin afterward, with his eyes closing and all. Jisung’s heart warmed. “My name’s Felix.”

“Felix is a weird name,” Jisung mused while blinking innocently. He tilted his head in curiosity as he considered the pronunciation. “Are you from overseas?”

“You’re smarter than people credit you for,” Felix complimented as he laid an herb poultice on a bandage. When he wrapped it around one of Jisung’s arms, the boy winced; Felix gave a soft apology. “I’m actually from Australia.”

“Australia?” Jisung asked excitedly, his eyes wide. He leaned forward a bit, momentarily forgetting about his ribs and letting out a painful whimper. He immediately recoiled and curled in on himself, holding his stomach and squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to lessen the agony.

Felix reeled back in surprise, his eyes blown wide. He frowned in concern, his hand twitching as he hesitated to reach out. He did eventually, though—with a gentle tap to Jisung’s unscathed elbow, he murmured, “Jisung? What hurts?”

“My- my ribs,” the other gasped out after a moment of recollecting himself. “I think one of them is broken.”

“Oh my God, that’s bad,” Felix said dumbly. He reached forward again, trying to coax away Jisung’s hands. “I need to check it to make sure, though, okay? You need to let me see.”

Jisung was reluctant about the idea of showing off his torso, but he knew Felix was more medically inclined—if this grass hut and medical supplies had anything to say about it—and a hospital was far too expensive. Usually he’d walk it off, but the pain was more intense than it had ever been before.

So with a nervous glance, Jisung looked away and slowly slid up his sweater to reveal his stomach.

It wasn’t a pretty sight; nasty bruises colored his skin, overlapping and meshing together to create deep browns and purples. Scars were littered throughout, too, and recent cuts from Kyungho’s shoes were visible. The worst part, though, was the giant, dark bruise sprouting from the area of his ribcage. It seemed to be swelling, too, and was colored a bright red in the center. Even though Felix barely went to touch it, Jisung winced and convulsed in pain once more, his breath picking up as it became harder to breathe.

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry. That was my fault,” Felix quickly stated, trying to calm the other down. “You need to relax, okay, Jisung?”

“Hurts, hurts,” was all that came in response. Jisung’s eyes were still squeezed shut, and tears had blossomed atop his eyelashes from the pain. “Hurts! Make it stop.”

“Jisung, hey, look at me,” Felix urged quietly. He grabbed the other's hands and clasped them in a gentle grip. “Focus on my voice. Just me. Nothing else.”

He continued speaking, trying to keep his voice level and audible. Jisung listened intently, zeroing in on the deep sound and gradually coming back around. He opened his eyes a bit when he was only breathing a little harshly, and blinked back at Felix tiredly. _When had they gotten so close?_

Jisung noticed that Felix’s freckles were extremely visible up close. They were pale, but his skin was even paler, so they dotted his cheeks like snowflakes on a January day. His eyes were like the mocha coffee Jisung used to get when he was younger—when things were better—and Felix’s cheeks still seemed to have the childish fat that charmed Jisung in a way nothing had ever done before.

It seemed today held a lot of firsts, as Jisung slipped up in front of a pretty boy for the very first time by saying, “Holy shit, you’re beautiful” in a panic attack-induced haze, followed by blacking out completely.

Sadly, he couldn’t see the sky when he was unconscious.

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by WEATHERS's "I'm Not Ok"


End file.
